


slowly but surely

by hot_leaf_juice



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Protective Iroh, Zuko goes through an emo phase, basically I got a tumblr ask about zuko singing listen to me by human petting zoo and made a fic, but the author was dealing with some shit when she wrote this, in this house we get angsty about Iroh's guilt, not to get personal in the tags, playing songs on the ukulele is less hard, talking to your uncle about your emotions is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_leaf_juice/pseuds/hot_leaf_juice
Summary: It's not easy. Absolutely no part of it is easy. But Iroh will never stop trying.orZuko won't talk about his feelings, but he can play the ukulele.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 362





	slowly but surely

**Author's Note:**

> the song in this is Listen to Me by Human Petting Zoo

Getting a call from the nephew he hadn’t seen in years was a nice surprise for Iroh for approximately five seconds before he registered that Zuko was hyperventilating. When he picked up the phone, he expected Zuko’s voice to sound more mature now that he was thirteen. The boy he heard just sounded young and small and terrified. Every hair on the back of Iroh’s neck stood up with every hitch of Zuko’s heavy breathing. 

He didn’t expect the first conversation with his nephew in four years to start with, “Uncle, I need help. I need- I need to go to a hospital.” 

The next thing Iroh knew, he was speeding on a highway close to ten at night, starting an eight-hour trip to the address Zuko gave him. No need for caffeine. When Zuko said “I made him mad and he- Uncle, he’s really mad at me,” that shot Iroh completely awake. Along with every worst-case-scenario running through his mind. 

“It hurts, Uncle,” was looping in Iroh’s head. Not that he knew what “it” was. Zuko wasn’t in any state to articulate what had happened. All Iroh knew was that one, his nephew was out somewhere, hurt and scared, and two, he was going to murder his brother. 

Iroh drove with the radio off and drove 90 miles an hour on the empty highway. Worse case scenarios included a broken limb. Maybe Ozai had pushed Zuko from somewhere. That was a disgusting possibility that Iroh knew was likely. His brother had firmly cut off contact four years ago, but he’d always had a crueler streak, even when they were younger. Iroh never imagined that Ozai would actually harm his children, but with Zuko’s sobs ringing in his ear all Iroh can think about is the warning signs that were clearly there. How Zuko stiffened up when his father touched his shoulder at the funeral. How the last time he was at Iroh’s house he broke a teacup and spent an hour apologizing even when Iroh told him there was nothing to worry about, that accidents happened. 

Whatever the reason Zuko was calling now, it wasn’t an accident. That’s all Iroh was sure of. 

Iroh pulls up to the address at the crack of dawn. It’s not a house like he was expecting. It’s a park. Through swingsets and slides, he saw a skinny, dark-haired preteen sleeping on a bench, clinging to a red backpack as a child would cling to a stuffed animal. 

Iroh hadn’t slept all night, but he was still wide awake and sprinted over to the bench. 

He almost threw up upon seeing what “it” was. “It” was a fresh, angry burn splotched all over the left side of Zuko’s face. Red and sticky and in desperate need of medical attention. Iroh stopped breathing. He hadn’t seen a burn this bad since his days in the service. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t really be his nephew. 

Iroh couldn’t help but think about Lu Ten and what his body had looked like after the accident. 

He touches Zuko’s shoulder and he jolts awake, jerking away from Iroh’s touch like a feral animal. Fear floods Zuko’s eyes for a moment before he realizes it’s Iroh. He’s still grips the backpack and makes no move to get closer. 

There’s a silence between the two of them for a minute. Iroh reaches out to cup the uninjured side of Zuko’s face, not realizing that tears are forming in his eyes until they drip down into his beard. 

“Zuko,” he says softly. Zuko didn’t pull away from Iroh’s touch, even if he went very, very still, and that’s all the invitation Iroh needs to pull him close. 

Zuko lets him. The backpack is sandwiched between them. 

“He-,” Zuko eventually mumbles into Iroh’s shoulder but doesn’t finish. He’s cut off by his own uncontrollable sobbing. 

Iroh reaches up to hold the back of Zuko’s head, weaving his fingers into his hair. Zuko lets him. 

There’s a time to deal with Ozai, but this isn’t it. Now is the time to go to the hospital because Iroh doesn’t know how long the burn has been left unattended and if it gets infected Zuko could die. So they get in the car and go. 

\-- 

It’s one of the worst days of Iroh’s life and definitely the worst day of Zuko’s life and all the days that follow are hard. 

Being at the hospital and having to put Zuko on painkillers, the nurse asking Iroh “are you his guardian” and him having to explain that no, he’s not and that the person who is his guardian was responsible for the injury, the police interrogating a freshly bandaged and fragile Zuko, all of it: it’s impossible. They do it somehow, through Iroh’s rage and Zuko’s fear, but it’s nearly impossible. 

What follows is the arrest. The lawyers, the questioning. Figuring out how the hell to get Azula out of that house and failing. Hours, where they had to listen to men in suits that Ozai paid thousands of dollars to defend him, try to explain that Zuko was lying and Iroh using every ounce of impulse control he had to not throttle them. Zuko giving testimony and describing how his father pressed his face onto a lit stove while Ozai sat on the other side of the courtroom, no hint of remorse in his expression. 

It’s hell, for an entire year. And it doesn’t get easier after they hear the word “guilty.” 

Putting Zuko in Lu Ten’s old room ends up being one of the hardest things Iroh’s ever had to do. But he does it. The mood swing and the yelling and the days Zuko spends sulking in his room, it’s all impossible. Not that Iroh blames Zuko, he could never do that. But his heart breaks a little every time Zuko shuts him out. 

Iroh knows there’s not much he can do through the whole ordeal to make Zuko feel remotely better. He can’t make the burn heal faster and he can’t do anything about the scar. There’s nothing he can do about the fact that his brother spent years treating his son like garbage. He can’t delete the words about how Zuko was a failure and a disappointment who should have never been born from Zuko’s memory. 

Zuko doesn’t listen when Iroh tells him that he’s proud of him through the trial. Whenever Iroh tells Zuko that, all he gets is a robotic “thank you, Uncle.” Never a smile or any indication that Zuko believes him. 

He’s not going to be ready to talk about any of it for a while. That’s just how it is. 

So Iroh has to try a gradual approach. 

\-- 

“What’s this for?” Zuko asks, holding out the instrument and giving Iroh a quizzical look. 

“Nothing,” Iroh tells him, “I just saw it and thought you might like to learn how to play.” 

Zuko rolls his eyes and sets the ukulele on his desk, then puts his earbud back in and continues to ignore the world around him. That’s Iroh’s cue to leave. 

The music he’s been listening to recently isn’t something Iroh  _ gets,  _ but it seems to be what comforts him. How listening to loud drum solos and metal singers screaming at the top of their lungs is  _ comforting,  _ Iroh doesn’t get. But these days it seems to be the only thing that Zuko genuinely enjoys. So he doesn’t say anything and just keeps an eye on him. Buys him the CDs with ‘parental advisory’ on the cover. Lets him cover his room with black and white band posters. If that’s what makes him happy, then Iroh’s all for it. He’s fourteen, it’s a phase. 

Zuko doesn’t look up at him as he leaves the room. Iroh closes the door behind him‒ that’s an unspoken rule. 

\-- 

“What is that on your face?” 

Zuko’s a terrible liar. Iroh knows that and Zuko definitely knows that, so he usually doesn’t try. Which makes it surprising when Zuko turns his face to hide the stud in his ear and responds, “nothing.” 

It’s definitely not nothing. And Iroh doesn’t usually use a firm voice with Zuko, but he can’t just let him get away with lying to his face like that. “Zuko, come over here.” 

There’s no getting out of the situation. So Zuko walks over and stands across the table from Iroh. It’s close enough for him to see that the skin around the black earring is irritated, even against the scarring that was there, to begin with. The problem is that Zuko’s very much not eighteen and there’s no way he got that legally. 

“Who gave that to you?” Iroh demands. Zuko avoids eye contact. 

“No one,” Zuko responds, outwardly annoyed at the interrogation. 

“You did that to yourself?” 

“No, I mean,” Zuko huffs out of his nose, “it doesn’t matter where I got it.” 

“Zuko,” Iroh doesn’t attempt to subdue the anger spreading across his face, “it is going to get infected. Take it out, now.” 

Zuko’s hard expression doesn’t falter, but he complies. He takes the stud out and tosses it on the table with more force than necessary. Then turns around, apparently under the impression that the conversation is over. 

This is probably the first time Iroh’s been actively angry at Zuko. For being stupid. For not considering the consequences of his actions. He does this too much for Iroh’s liking, but it’s usually in the form of talking back or leaving the house in the middle of the night to take walks. This, however, goes over the limit of what Iroh’s willing to let slide. 

“Zuko,” Iroh continues, standing up from his seat, “you need to clean your ear.” 

“I know,” Zuko snaps back, “I’m not an idiot.” 

“Really? Your actions would suggest quite the opposite,” Iroh replies. Later, he might regret saying that, but right now he’s just angry. The thing is, if Zuko had  _ asked  _ to get his ear pierced, Iroh would have probably let him. But no, instead Zuko went behind his back and got it done from god knows who. 

Zuko doesn’t respond. He just keeps avoiding eye contact and walks to the bathroom, firmly shutting the door behind him. 

Iroh rubs his temple and sits back down. He reaches out to the stud and holds it up to check for blood and sighs of relief when he doesn’t see any. 

\-- 

It might not be the solution, but it’s something. And that’s a lot better than nothing. 

Iroh asks Zuko to start taking shifts at the Jasmine Dragon in his bedroom, which barely resembles what it was when Lu Ten still lived in it. That’s okay. It’s okay so long as Zuko stops doing stupid shit and starts  _ listening _ . 

Zuko doesn’t fight him on it, and he doesn’t look enthusiastic about it, but his face softens up a little when Iroh tells him, “I believe you will develop quite the knack for it.” 

He’ll work weekends and Iroh hopes that he won’t hate it. Zuko crosses his arms across his chest as he waits for Iroh to keep talking or leave. He’s not smiling, but he’s not angry. That’s a start. 

Iroh scoots the desk chair a little as he stands up and knocks something over. The cheap ukelele he got Zuko two years ago but hasn’t heard a note from was perched against the desk leg. Iroh picks it up by the neck and runs his fingers over the strings. 

He smiles at Zuko. “Have you been learning?” 

Zuko shrugs and looks away. “It’s just something to mess around with.” 

“I would love to hear you play someday.” 

Zuko doesn’t respond. He just twiddles his thumbs, looking like he wants to be invisible. 

Iroh gives the strings another strum and decides not to push past that. He sets the ukulele back down on the floor. 

“Alright,” Iroh says, standing up, “I’ll leave you alone. Dinner in an hour?” he asks. 

Zuko nods and Iroh gives him a small smile. He closes the door when he leaves the room. 

\-- 

The anniversary is pretty high up on the list of ‘things that aren’t easy.’ Mostly because Zuko never, ever talks about it. Instead, he spends the day in his room with the door locked. He’s done that for the last four years and Iroh’s learned the hard way not to engage. 

Iroh spends the day regretting everything. The years he spent out of contact. Living a state away from Zuko when it happened. Only driving fifteen miles over the speed limit. Somehow, he makes room to regret what happened to Lu Ten in the middle of all of that. Two sons: and he failed them both. 

This year the anniversary falls on a Saturday and Iroh doesn’t even consider scheduling Zuko to work. He fully expects the only interaction with Zuko today to be bringing him lunch and dinner, and even then he only expects that interaction to consist of him knocking on Zuko’s door and seeing nothing but Zuko’s hand come out of the crack to grab the bowl or plate of food. 

He doesn’t expect to walk down into the kitchen at eight in the morning and see Zuko making eggs. But that’s what he wakes up to. 

There’s some music coming from Zuko’s phone on the counter, but it’s acoustic, not what he usually listens to. The singer sounds like he smokes a pack a day and the lyrics are … weird to say the least. But there’s chimes and fast-paced C chords that give it a more upbeat edge. 

Zuko looks over and actually  _ smiles. _

“Do you want some, Uncle?” Zuko asks softly. 

Iroh blinks a couple of times to make sure he’s not dreaming. His heart mends a little upon realizing that he’s not. His lips turn up and he says, “I would love some.” 

Zuko nods and turns the spatula in his hand to scoop some up on a plate and sets it on the table.

Iroh goes to get the sriracha sauce from the fridge, knowing that Zuko likes his eggs with at least a few tablespoons of the stuff. He sits down and grabs the fork that Zuko set out for him.

Zuko’s already been unexpected this morning, but he keeps going. As Iroh sits down he feels an arm tentatively come across his shoulder and give a light squeeze, pulling away after only a couple of seconds. 

“What was that for?” Iroh asks cautiously. A part of him wondering who this new boy is and what did he do with his nephew?

Zuko doesn’t respond immediately as he sits down and starts putting sriracha sauce on his eggs. He mulls over what he’s going to say before settling on, “I felt like it.” 

Iroh thinks he might start crying but doesn’t. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever cosmic force put Zuko in this good of a mood. Especially today. He is brave enough to reach across and hold Zuko’s hand. 

“Thank you, Zuko.”

The ‘I love you’ and the ‘I’m proud of you’ and the ‘I’m happy you’re here with me’ is implied. Iroh doesn’t want to break this moment. He doesn’t want to scare Zuko off. 

Zuko smiles and nods then goes back to cutting up his eggs with his fork. 

Iroh decides he can keep being brave and says, “I’ve been wanting to go see that new movie, the one with the Beatles music.” 

Zuko does his version of laughing and breathes heavily out of his nose. “That movie looks terrible.” 

“Why don’t you join me? I’ll greatly enjoy your commentary,” Iroh tries, hoping it just might work. He knows that Zuko talks through movies but he never particularly minds. It’s usually one of the only times he gets to hear him impassionately talk about something, even if it’s nitpicking plot holes in  _ Lord of the Rings.  _

Zuko keeps being unexpected and says, “sure, Uncle.” 

And that’s enough. Especially today. 

\-- 

When Iroh walked up to Zuko’s room to bring him some tea, he didn’t expect to hear music. It’s definitely from the ukelele. Sporadic and imperfect chords ringing in the air. He reaches out for the handle but stops. He wants his nephew to keep playing. 

At first, Zuko just seems to be experimenting with chords. Some of them are off,  _ very  _ off, but he keeps trying at each one until he gets them perfect. 

There’s a memory that sparks in Iroh’s mind of a four-year-old Zuko playing with Lu Ten’s trumpet. Back when they were both able to effortlessly smile and laugh. That’s what Iroh thinks about as he listens to his nephew play through the door. 

Then the singing starts, but the lyrics don’t match the soft tone of the ukulele. Or Zuko’s voice, which Iroh thinks is beautiful, and not just because it’s from his nephew. 

_ “You’re the worst person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot, cause I’ve met a lot of people.”  _

Iroh grips the teacup and is very careful not to leave a shadow under the door. 

_ “And I haven’t seen you in a couple of years. But when I do, I’m gonna run you over with my car.”  _

It’s not funny, but Iroh can’t help but smile. Not because of the lyrics, but because Zuko sounds like he’s enjoying this. 

_ “Listen to me, listen to me, listen to me.”  _

Zuko’s singing increases in volume with each clause. 

_ “Listen to me, listen to me, listen to me.”  _

The chords aren’t perfect, but Zuko just plays past them, focusing more on the words.

_ “I lived in your house for so many fucking years.” _

Iroh keeps smiling, mostly because Zuko never swears, not even when he’s angry. But then his mind goes to the worst day. There’s no stopping that. 

_ “And every single day I lived in fear.”  _

The worst day, when Zuko could barely get a sentence out without crying and then getting enough words out to let Iroh know that the saltwater made it hurt so much worse.

_ “And I thought you were gonna kill my mom.”  _

Iroh closes his eyes, trying and failing not to think about every time he checked in on Zuko when he was sleeping and found him restless, trapped in nightmares until Iroh brought him out. How not once would Zuko tell him what was wrong. 

_ “And it turns out, I wasn’t completely wrong,”  _

Zuko loudly sings the last few words. Iroh thinks about Zuko screaming and squeezing his hand when the nurse started putting salve on the burn. 

_ “Listen to me, listen to me, listen to me.”  _

The chorus crescendos. Iroh leans against the wall and spills some tea on the floor. 

_ “Listen to me, listen to me, listen to me.”  _

There’s anger. So much anger in Zuko’s voice. And it breaks Iroh’s heart all over again. 

_ “Listen to me, listen to me, listen to me.”  _

The chords ring out. Iroh stays still, wanting nothing more than to open the door and hold his nephew, but knowing that would be a huge breach of trust. Knowing that Zuko didn’t want him to hear that. 

But then, Zuko starts laughing.  _ Really  _ laughing. Not just the breathing version of laughing. The kind of laughing Iroh hadn’t heard since Zuko was nine. 

And that’s enough for Iroh to know that Zuko’s okay, at least, for right now. 

He waits a couple of minutes, not wanting to invade Zuko’s privacy, and knocks on the door. 

“Come in.” 

Zuko’s sitting on his bed, the ukulele resting on his pillow. The room looks different and it takes Iroh a moment to realize that it’s because the blinds are open. The sunlight looks good on his nephew’s face, but it’s made so much better by the fact that Zuko looks happy. 

_ Really  _ happy. Not the fake happy he puts on sometimes when Iroh asks him what’s wrong. 

“I brought you some Jasmine tea,” Iroh hands it to him, hoping that it didn’t go cold during Zuko’s serenade. 

Zuko takes the cup with both hands and holds it for a moment. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Iroh smiles and makes his way to leave, gripping the handle to pull the door behind him. 

“Uncle,” Zuko interrupts. Iroh turns around and thinks maybe Zuko knows he was listening. He’ll be disappointed if that’s the case, but he’s ready to apologize. 

But Zuko keeps being unexpected. 

“You can leave the door open,” he says, tentatively and looking at Iroh like he might close it anyway. 

Iroh’s heart swells and he lets go of the handle before walking back into the kitchen. 

It’s more than enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr @nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice
> 
> Comments are always appreciated :)


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